


Tutelary

by Sakon76



Category: Calvin & Hobbes, Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Bullying, Gen, References to Suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-25
Updated: 2014-02-22
Packaged: 2017-12-06 10:33:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/734683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sakon76/pseuds/Sakon76
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tutelary \TOO-tuh-lair-ee\; adj. (1): having the guardianship of a person or a thing, (2): of or relating to a guardian.  A collection of short Jack and Jamie brothers/friendship stories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Getting to Know You

Epicenter

Jack Frost walked through the falling snow, one hand in his hoodie pocket, the other holding his staff, which rested on his shoulder. The snow fell around him, but never _on_ him, Jamie noticed. It never got caught on his eyelashes or in his hair, never settled and melted on his skin.

Not that it would have.

But as he had the very odd thought that Jack was the _center_ of the snow (which, _duh_ ), he found himself wondering things. Like, how old was Jack? How was he born? Guardians had to come from somewhere, because people hadn't _always_ been giving up their teeth and celebrating Christmas, right?

But all those thoughts fled Jamie's head as Jack looked at him, and smirked.

Jamie ducked and rolled without a second thought, neatly avoiding the snowball that would have nailed him in the face. He came back up in one smooth move, ammo in hand, and fired back.

Jack laughed, only half-heartedly dodging the missile that stuck his shoulder.

* * *

Transition

Frost formed where he walked, and the first time Jamie saw Jack freeze the pond, he couldn't believe his eyes. They were just walking through the woods, talking. When they reached the water's edge, Jamie had to stop but Jack didn't. He just kept going forward, talking about the autumn leaves and how much longer he bet they'd last. Like he didn't even notice the ground beneath his feet was no longer solid but liquid.

Except, it wasn't anymore.

Ice whorls spread out over the surface each time Jack's feet touched the water. It was gorgeous and breathtaking.

A few steps later, Jack noticed Jamie was no longer beside him and stopped, turning. Jamie must have been gaping like an idiot, because Jack actually glanced down at his feet. "Whoops, sorry," he said, and glided back across the surface of the water, spreading ice as he went.

Jamie looked back up at Jack as the winter spirit hopped back onto solid ground, and all he could think of was how _thin_ that ice had been, and how Jack had walked on it like it was solid as a rock. Like the idea of it breaking beneath him had never occurred.

"Jack, how much do you _weigh_?"

* * *

Olympics

His mom was glued to the television, absolutely addicted to the figure skating. Jamie sat with her for a while, watching people do things with their bodies that he would never have been able to imagine possible.

After a bit, all he could think of was how artificial it looked. It was like watching ballet, he thought, which was probably part of why his mom liked it. It was all very stylized, and the athletes had put thousands upon thousands of hours into being able to do these things. Their bodies were highly trained machines, the height of human perfection.

He watched a woman muff a jump, and thought, _Jack would have landed that._

Just like that, Jamie realized that Jack Frost had ruined competitive ice skating for him.

Jack did things like the professional skaters, but for him there was no forethought, no plan, no years of intensive training. For him, it was all graceful, natural, and as easy as falling backwards into a snowdrift. Jack, for lack of a better word, _danced_ with the ice and wind.

And as the routine ended and the camera flashed over to the judges, Jamie _stared_.

There, perched atop on the glass divide behind the judges' table, was a beaming winter spirit clad in brown leggings and a blue hoodie.

Clapping.

Jamie shut his mouth with an audible pop, and stood.

"Where are you going?" his mother asked as he rummaged through the hallway closet.

Jamie found the items he'd been looking for, and straightened.

"Skating," he said.

* * *

Claustrophobia

One knee bent, the other foot resting on the floor, and his staff propped against his shoulder, Jack Frost sat in the sill of Jamie Bennett's window, watching a movie on Jamie's tiny television.

"Okay, you win," he admitted as the credits started to roll. "That was a good movie."

"I know--wasn't it _awesome_?" Jamie enthused. "It's not done yet, though. There's one more bit after the credits." He picked up the remote control and pressed a button, sending the disc zipping forward through names and titles, until people appeared on the screen again.

Watching the Avengers tiredly eat shawarma, Jack snickered. "I know what _that_ feels like."

"So you've seen all the other ones, right? Iron Man and Hulk and Captain America and--"

"Nope." Jack shook his head.

Jamie stopped, looking surprised. "Why not?"

Jack grinned lopsidedly. "Believe it or not, Jamie, not that many people want Jack Frost creeping into their homes to watch movies with them. And watching TV from the other side of iced-over glass isn't really that fun."

"Well, _I_ want you to watch movies with me," Jamie said.

"Yeah, but you're special." Jack leaned back and sighed. "I miss drive-ins." He'd been able to perch atop cars or fences or even his staff there, and listen to the nearby speakers for the movie's audio. He'd seen more films that way.... Sadly, drive-in theaters were a dying trend.

Jamie looked puzzled. "What about movie theaters? I mean, if no one could see you, you wouldn't even have to pay to get in."

Jack regarded his young friend. Shook his head. "I actually don't really like being inside much, Jamie."

"But you're in my room now."

Jack tapped on a windowpane. It frosted at his touch. "With the window open," he pointed out.

Jamie's face was scrunched up, confused. Then, after a moment, his expression cleared. "You've got claustrophobia!"

"What?" Jack sat up straight.

Jamie was nodding. "Yeah. One of the girls in my class, Suzie, has it too. We found out when that jerk Moe shut her in the broom closet in second grade. Mrs. Wormwood said we had to be extra nice to her after that." He shrugged. "It's not a big deal."

"I don't have--" Jack started, then stopped. Thought about how he was okay inside Santoff Claussen or the Warren, but also about how cavernous they both were. Thought about how he felt nervous if he didn't have a clear escape route from North's workroom or Jamie's room. "Huh."

* * *

**Author's Note:** The Tutelary series is my dumping ground for really short Jack-and-Jamie brothers/friendship pieces like the ones above. The title comes from the Merriam-Webster word of the day mailing list, December 9th, 2012.

And, yes, that was a Calvin and Hobbes reference y'all spotted in the last story.


	2. See Me; Feel Me; Touch Me; Heal Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It will get better. I promise."

See Me; Feel Me; Touch Me; Heal Me

The year Jamie turned sixteen was his worst. Of all his childhood friends, he alone still believed in the Guardians. He learned how not to say so, how to keep his mouth shut about what was in his heart.

He learned it the hard way.

"Hey, Jamie," Jack said one October day, breezing in through Jamie's window. He stopped short, though, when he saw Jamie laying on his bed, ice pack over one eye.

"Hey, Jack," Jamie said listlessly, not getting up.

Jack sat next to him, cool fingers prying at the pack. Jamie resisted, but it was futile; Jack had the ice pack off and was examining the black eye within seconds. He let out a low, unhappy breath, and wordlessly returned the now colder ice pack to its position. He then picked up Jamie's hands, one then the other, examining the scraped knuckles and the band-aids between them.

"Who do I need to kill?" Jack asked eventually.

Jamie struggled upright. "No one! It was just me being stupid and running my mouth."

Jack's mouth set in a line. "You are not stupid, Jamie. You're one of the smartest people I know. And I somehow doubt your mouth reached out and punched you in the eye."

Jamie looked away. "It's nothing."

Cool fingers caught under his chin, directed him to look back at Jack. "It's not nothing." Jack held his gaze for a long moment, then sighed. "Why are you getting beaten up, Jamie?"

Jamie couldn't meet the Guardian's eyes.

Jack drew a shaky breath. "Because of me?"

Jamie shook his head, mute.

"Because you're too old to believe in fairy tales?" Jack pressed.

"You're not a fairy tale!" Jamie burst out, then bit his lip. Jack looked like he'd had his heart ripped out at the confirmation. "You're real," Jamie said more quietly. "I don't care if Caleb and everyone else chooses to ignore reality. I'm not going to forget about what I know just because _they_ have."

"Jamie." Jack's voice was very quiet. "If you're getting hurt because you still believe...."

"I am not forgetting, Jack." Jamie's voice held no compromise. "You can't make me."

"Hey, hey, I don't want you to forget about me!" Jack protested, one hand on Jamie's shoulder. "I just don't want you getting hurt."

"Some things there's just no doing anything about," Jamie said bitterly.

Jack looked at him for a minute, then looked away. Wordlessly, he tugged up the sleeves of his hoodie. When he had them rucked up to his elbows, he turned back toward Jamie and displayed the undersides of both arms.

Jamie's mouth dropped open.

Jack's arms were covered in thin white lines. Most were parallel to his wrists. A couple, longer, were not.

"Jack..." Jamie said helplessly.

Jack didn't meet his eyes. "I know it's not always going to help, but... it gets better, Jamie. You'll get through high school, and go away to college, to someplace new where nobody knows you, and you'll meet new people, and some of them will think still believing in Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy is kind of cool."

"Jack." Jamie's fingers wrapped around one cool, pale wrist. "Why did you...?"

Jack's voice was rough. "Three hundred years is a long time to be alone. It got worse. Eventually, it got better."

"Do... do the other Guardians know?"

Jack shook his head, closed his eyes. "I doubt it."

"But why not?" Jamie couldn't understand why. Jack was always talking about what the other Guardians were up to; he clearly adored them.

Jack's blue eyes shot open again, fierce, glaring. "Because they _ignored me_ , Jamie. For three hundred years." His breath hitched; his gaze slid away. "I love them, and they're part of my life now. But, for three hundred years...." His voice trailed off. He shook his head.

"Oh, God." Jamie wrapped his arms around Jack, pulled him close. Freezing tears burned their way through his shirt.

"It got better," Jack whispered raggedly. "I promise it will get better for you too. I _promise_. Even if I have to steal you away and hide you at North's for the next three years. It _will_."

Jamie surprised himself with a laugh. "Do that, and I'll never get into college."

"You can learn to make toys instead," Jack planned out. "You can become a master craftsman. Do you know what yeti furniture goes for in Europe? All those toy-making supplies don't buy themselves."

Jamie had to laugh. And cry, at the same time. It hurt so damn much. And then it was Jack holding _him_ , stroking his hair as Jamie broke down and cried it all out. "They were supposed to be my friends," Jamie sobbed, hiccuping on the words.

"I know. They were. They just... forgot." Jack never let him go.

Eventually, Jamie was left with a runny nose, burning eyes, and a headache. There weren't any more tears left in him. He felt burnt out, like he'd been crying forever.

Jack handed him the box of tissues, waited as Jamie blew his nose a few times. When he spoke again, his voice was soft. "Jamie, I want you to promise me something."

"Mmm?"

Jack's eyes met his, serious. "I want you to promise me that you'll never try this." He gestured to his arms. "You're smarter than I am. You have people who love you. I'm one of them! So if you ever think you might, _tell me_. And I will kidnap you, to North's or wherever you want to go. And you won't ever have to come back."

"Jack...."

"Promise me." Jack was unrelenting.

Jamie swallowed, let his breath go, drew another. "I promise."

"Good."

Jamie just breathed for a few more minutes before touching Jack's bare arm again, looking at the numerous white-on-white scars. He didn't try to count them. He didn't want a number for how many times Jack had tried to remove himself from the world. For how many times he might never have met his friend. "I won't tell anyone. About these."

Jack breathed what might have been a laugh. "Thanks." Slowly, meticulously, he pulled down one sleeve, then the other. But just because the scars were hidden, Jamie understood, just because no one knew they were there, didn't mean they didn't exist.


	3. Comforting Forces of Nature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winter starts a few days early, and Jamie should not watch horror films.

Force of Nature

Jack Frost was a force of nature. Literally. Once - just once - Jamie saw his arrival in Burgess from the start. He'd been leaving school when his eyes caught on a small dark speck in the northern sky. He'd stopped and watched, wondering what it was, as it plummeted to Earth.

Then it leveled out, soaring, and came close enough that he could make out a stick held out in one hand. Jamie's heart had soared too, and he'd grabbed Claude, pointing excitedly until his friend saw Jack. They were in seventh grade now, but all of their group still believed in the Guardians.

"Yeah, it's Jack!" Claude cheered, and waved, though Jack was so far away he couldn't possibly have seen them.

"You know what this means," Cupcake said from Jamie's other side.

"Yeah." Jamie zipped up his corduroy jacket, grinning. "Snow day!"

Within minutes, the temperature dropped ten degrees. Frost came streaking down the sidewalk in front of them, followed by wind and the first few snowflakes of the season. Jamie opened his mouth and tried to catch one.

He succeeded, and closed his mouth happily, feeling the cold meltwater on his tongue.

"Hey, now, who's that eating my snowflakes?" a voice asked.

Jamie spun around, looking up.

Jack stood on the edge of the school roof, looking down at them. "Jack!" Monty cheered.

"Hmm, let me think," Jack said. "Nope, I'm not eating snowflakes."

Grinning, Caleb elbowed Jamie. "That would be Jamie."

"Indeed." Jack knelt. "So, how'd it taste, kiddo?"

Jamie grinned. "Like winter!"

Jack smiled and stood again. "Your wish, is my command." He jumped off the roof, spinning, and by the time his feet touched the ground, snow was falling thick all over the neighborhood.

"You know it's not supposed to snow until the weekend," Pippa told him. But she was smiling.

Jack smiled back at her. "Since when can the weatherman predict the weather?" he quipped. "So. You guys been good in my absence? Getting all straight As, helping little old ladies cross the street, that kind of thing?"

"Hardly," said Cupcake.

Jack grinned fit to split his face. "That's my gang. So, what're we up to today?"

Jamie shrugged his heavy backpack, which felt like it was stuffed with every textbook he had. "First, dropping stuff at our houses. Then...?" He looked at his friends.

Caleb whooped. "I say sledding!"

"Yeah!" Monty thrust a fist into the air.

"Sledding it is. Meet you guys at the hill?" Jack asked. He barely waited for their replies before taking to the air again.

By the time they got home, Jamie knew, downtown would have icicles hanging from every eave. By the time they'd grabbed hats and gloves and sleds, the hill and the woods would be powder-white. By the time they got there, it would be perfect, and Jack would be waiting.

Grinning, Jamie ran for home.

* * *

Slay vs. Sleigh

The winter wind howled outside, but the boys attending the twelfth birthday party ignored it. The twins' parents had retreated upstairs, leaving the boys the run of downstairs, including the kitchen and the all-important living room, with its television. The hour ticked over to midnight as the boys laughed, threw popcorn at one another, and shivered at the movies they were watching.

Jamie, his sleeping bag laid out in front of the sofa, blinked slowly, and rolled over onto his back. His eyes drifted closed. Unaccustomed to the witching hour, his thoughts tumbled over one another like blocks, falling into a scattered mess. He'd only been awake this late once, and that night... that night....

Jamie remembered the man with the red coat. Nicholas St. North, they called him. The Demon of the Cossacks. He had pillaged and burned his way through villages uncounted, before he had turned his eyes to magic, and become truly unstoppable. He had a flying vehicle, named The Slay, drawn by demon reindeer. His coat, they said, was dyed in the blood of naughty children. Mothers kept their children close, especially in winter, and sent them to bed as soon as the sun went down. He would not take a child sleeping in its bed. Only the naughty ones. Only the ones who were awake too late at night.

Scarier, though, was the pooka. He was a giant rabbit, with razor-sharp buck teeth and claws that scratched. He could tell if anyone had ever had a rabbit's paw luck charm. So could everyone else, after. The body parts were always arranged the same way. The pooka's fur was gray and black shadows; he skulked in the woods in the springtime, waiting for the unwary. The children he took were never heard from again; only their vanishing scream gave a clue to their fate. No one knew what he did with them. No one wanted to imagine it.

The Tooth Faery was slightly better. So long as she was given her tithe of teeth on time, no one got hurt. Her palace, they said, was built of the teeth, all shining and pearly white, until you looked closer and saw the dried rust of blood and gums she preferred. Parents came after their children with pliers, to keep her Fae appeased. If they weren't, they would take the children flying high up into the sky, then just... let them go.

The Sandman, though, was the most horrifying. His sand crept into bedrooms at night, unseen, unstoppable, and wore away children's dreams. It scratched and abraded, and the only way you knew he'd been there was by the grit in your eyes the next morning. He stole the dreams for himself, kept them, they said, in little hourglasses in his castle. And when your hourglass was filled, you would turn into an empty vacant-eyed adult. You wouldn't have any dreams ever again--

Jamie woke with a gasp, the Sandman hovering right over him.

Terrified, Jamie shrank back.

Sandman stopped, looking taken aback. Then he raised a hand, as if to say _wait_ , and vanished.

Before Jamie could even calm his breathing, he was back. Right behind him was--

"Hey, kiddo, what's wrong?" Jack Frost knelt next to Jamie. "You're worrying Sandy."

For a long minute, Jamie shrank away. Then his hand shot out and grabbed Jack's.

Jack was... cold. But not frozen. His skin was pink instead of blue.

"Bad dream?" Jack asked sympathetically.

Jamie nodded, and surged forward, burying himself in the older boy's sweatshirt. It wasn't real, none of it was real, the Guardians weren't like that....

Jack's hand smoothed his hair. "See, this is why your mom doesn't let you watch horror movies," he said. Wordless, Jamie nodded again.

The television flared and turned off, the looping title page of the DVD going silent mid-scream. Jamie glanced out of Jack's arms to see Sandman with the remote in hand, frowning at the television. None of the pile of sleeping boys on the floor woke to notice either him or Jack.

"You okay yet?" Jack asked quietly.

Still holding on, Jamie shook his head.

"Hmm." Jack shifted until he was leaning back against the sofa, one arm still around Jamie. "You go ahead, Sandy. I'll catch up later."

The Guardian of Dreams nodded, bowed to Jamie, and hied off through a window.

"So, you want to tell me what your bad dream was about?"

Jamie swallowed. "You were all evil," he whispered hoarsely.

"Heh. That does sound pretty terrible," Jack admitted. "Was Pitch the good guy in this dream?"

"I didn't get that far." A thought occurred to Jamie; he twisted his neck to look up into Jack's eyes. "Pitch didn't give me this dream, did he?"

Jack shook his head. "Nah, not a nightmare or fearling in sight. It all came from your own subconscious." He gave a gentle rap at the side of Jamie's head.

"You're sure, Jack?"

The Guardian smiled. "Not every bad dream comes from him, you know. Any more than Sandy gives you every good dream, or the only fun on Earth comes from me. We just kind of enhance the experience, and make sure kids get what they need when they need it."

"Mmm." Jamie snuggled into Jack, who was quite comfy despite being all bony and cold. "What were you and Sandman doing here?"

"Me? Spreading some winter weather so the twins get a snow day tomorrow for my belated birthday present. Sandy was doing his usual rounds."

Jamie's eyelids were getting heavy again. "Stay until I go to sleep?"

"For you, kiddo? Of course."

Jamie closed his eyes, rocked by the rise and fall of Jack's chest as he breathed. Outside, the wind had stopped; the quality of the silence gave away that snow was falling, probably heavily. The night was quiet, and free of monsters.

Safe in the arms of his favorite Guardian, Jamie drifted back asleep.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Jamie is, I think, something like thirteen and twelve respectively in these stories. The second one in particular has a genesis: I have read two too many stories that relied on spellcheck instead of brains. _North's vehicle is NOT a "slay." It is a "sleigh."_ There is a hugehuge difference between these two homonyms. So I wrote out the only possible circumstance in which that mix-up makes sense: a nightmarish mirrorverse.


	4. Old Friends and New Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You don't mess with Jack's friends.

Numen

Jack cleaved more tightly to his hometown that winter than he'd done for a while. His trips to other regions of the globe were done during the Pennsylvania nights, and were kept brief. He had friends and believers in other areas, and didn't neglect them, but they could tell there was something on his mind.

He was quieter. He was gentler. And somewhere in the back of his blue eyes, a few noticed, simmered an unholy rage.

Days, he shadowed Jamie, and sometimes Sophie. But the nine-year-old girl didn't seem to be having any problems. She was bright, had several good friends, and her teachers clearly loved her sunny attitude.

Not so with Jamie.

The sixteen-year-old, Jack discovered, was quiet and withdrawn in school. He sat in the back, handed in his homework with scarcely a murmur, and was seldom called on in class. Jamie ate lunch alone, took being jostled in the hallways without a word of complaint, and was too careful about double-checking the locks on his hallway locker, gym locker, and bicycle.

Jamie's old friends, meanwhile, were bright and cheerful and popular. The twins were both jocks these days, Jack discovered, members of a local hockey league. Monty had found his niche in the arts department, and preened about The Theatre. Cupcake, who was still stout but moved with the grace and assurance of a lifelong dancer, was right there with him. And Pippa, a 4.25 GPA student, acted as secretary of the student council.

Jack could have forgiven them growing up. He could have been happy for all they were achieving in their lives. He could even have been proud of them being such bright lights in their school. Except for one thing.

They'd turned on Jamie.

He listened, unseen, for weeks, to their whisper campaigns. Watched their snickering and giggles and the fingers being pointed at the boy who ate lunch all alone.

Jamie had once been their friend, their leader. The one who showed them the way back to wonder, dreams, hope, and memory. Now he was an outcast, and they were like a school of sharks circling in on wounded prey.

 _That_ , Jack could not forgive.

The day he caught Jamie looking at his wrist, absently rubbing a thumb across it, was the day Jack decided _no more_.

Lucky for him, that day the quintet stayed after school, meeting up in the art room to make banners for the school's midwinter arts festival. Jack saw Jamie leave the building, safely on his way home, then slipped inside the high school, and made his way to the meeting of his former friends.

He opened the door and walked right in. Caleb looked up, expecting a teacher, but didn't see anyone. Standing, he stuck his head out into the hall, looked both ways, then shrugged and closed the door behind himself. "Huh, no one there."

"It's an old building," his brother said. "Maybe it just wasn't closed all the way."

Pippa giggled. "Maybe it was a ghost!"

Monty laughed. "Oh, come on! Next thing you know, you'll be saying you believe in spirits like Jamie Bennett!"

Cupcake snorted. "Jamie was cute before we all realized how crazy he is."

Jack felt anger burn low in his soul. "I wouldn't say that if I were you," he warned. But no one heard him.

"Jamie needs to grow up," Pippa, superior, said. She had a red paintbrush in her hand. "It's his own fault no one likes him."

"No," said Jack, who had been watching these five instigate things among their peers for weeks now, "it's yours."

Claude snorted. "Loser," he said.

Jack closed his eyes. "We were all friends once," he whispered sadly, letting the five of them go.

When he opened his eyes again, there was no mercy left in them.

He slammed his staff to the floor. Wind blasted everything in a twenty-foot radius. Ice snaked out, covering the doors and windows, freezing the latches. The fluorescent bulbs overhead froze, shattered, rained glass down upon the shrieking quintet. Fast as the wind, Jack moved while the teenagers were still sheltering their eyes and heads. He snatched up buckets of paint and spun around, splattering the walls and floor and students with their contents. He cackled madly as he knocked chairs and easels over. The posters the five of them had been working on were ripped to shreds and caught up in a whirlwind.

Monty had scrambled for the inner door and was trying to open it, to no avail. He pounded on it and shouted, but as Caleb had noted, there was no one around to hear. Pippa was having the same luck with the outer door; Cupcake fared no better at the windows. The twins stood back-to-back in the center of the room, staring as Jack let the last paint bucket fall. All of them were covered, clothing, skin, and hair, in paint.

Feeling pleased with his work, Jack flew over to Pippa's discarded paintbrush. He picked it up, looped toward the chalkboard.

LEAVE JAMIE BENNETT ALONE, he wrote clearly, conscious of the silence behind him.

Caleb swallowed. "Or what?" he challenged. Someone kind might have ignored how his voice squeaked. Jack was not feeling kind.

He glided back to Caleb. Touched a single icy finger to the teenager's shirt.

Frost-ice crackled all over Caleb's clothing.

Caleb was trembling. "J-Jack?" he whispered, incredulous. His eyes slowly refocused.

For the first time in years, Caleb _believed_ in Jack Frost.

Still hovering, Jack leaned in very close to the teenager. "You lot call your minions off, and stay away from Jamie. Or I'll make this," he said with a gesture around the room, "look like a happy accident."

Caleb swallowed. "J-Jack," he tried again, reaching forward.

Jack raised a hand that crackled with blue-white ice power. Caleb froze. "Jamie's my friend," Jack said clearly. He leaned in close again. "You guys aren't anymore," he whispered.

* * *

Snowmen

"So then what happened?" asked Jamie.

Jack, floating alongside his friend, grinned. "Then," he confided, "we invented the sport of percussive egg bowling."

Jamie burst out laughing. "You did not!" he accused.

"We totally did," Jack confirmed. "The elves think it's the best thing ever. And Bunny swears up and down that North cheats."

"Does he?"

Jack shrugged. "Who knows?" He looked around, realized where they were. "Hey, let's hang a right here," he said. "There's a house down this way, you absolutely _have_ to see the yard."

"Okay." Jamie followed instructions even as Jack flipped out of the air and started walking beside his friend like a normal human being.

"So," Jamie said quietly after about twenty feet or so, "what did you do to them?"

"To who?"

"Cupcake and them."

Jack feigned nonchalance.

Jamie sighed. "Jack, I know you did something. They got weeks of detention, and the rumor mill says they almost got suspended, and no one's bothered me in days."

Jack huffed a sigh. "Hopefully, I made them realize they'd grown up into bullies and jerks."

"Jack--"

"I didn't want it having to take your mother finding your body in the bathtub, Jamie."

Jamie glared. "I promised I'd tell you if I thought about it."

"And I don't want you to have to keep that promise." Blue eyes met brown. "Don't ask me to have that kind of patience, Jamie. Because I don't."

Jamie sighed. It came out white and cloudy in the pure air. "You can't protect me from everything, Jack."

"I know." Jack's hand rested on Jamie's shoulder. "But I could protect you from this." He squeezed. "Aaaand, here we are!"

Jamie stopped, looked at the yard before them. It was decorated with snowmen arranged in the most macabre scenes he had ever seen.

"The address is included in the town's Christmas driving tour each year," Jack said, grinning.

"...I find that fact oddly disturbing," Jamie said, staring at the tableau of a snowman discovering another snowman's head inside a snowy freezer.

"Come on, Hobbes!" The house's front door banged open. "I've got some great ideas!"

Jamie paled at the sight of the young man carrying a threadbare stuffed tiger. "Jack, this is Crazy Calvin's house!" he hissed at the winter spirit.

Jack gave him a sidelong glance. "'Crazy Calvin'?" he asked. "That's kind of judgemental, coming from the guy talking to his invisible friend."

"You're real!" Jamie shot back. "Calvin's been talking to that tiger since kindergarten, and I've never once seen him be real."

Jack gave Jamie a pitying look. "You didn't see me, either, until you believed," he said, and flew over to where the tiger had been set down as Calvin tested the snow's consistency. "Hey, Hobbes!"

Jamie stood nervously on the sidewalk for a few minutes, watching Jack talk to a stuffed toy. Calvin kept giving the pair glances, too, until finally he stood and walked over to Jamie.

"Why's my tiger talking to your imaginary friend?"

"Why's my friend talking to your stuffed tiger?" Jamie shot back.

Calvin looked miffed. "Hobbes is plenty real. Just because _you_ can't see him...."

Jamie stiffened. "Nobody's ever seen him but you!"

Calvin's face fell, for just a moment. "I know."

Jamie paused. "He's... real?"

"He's real to me." Calvin's tone was defensive.

Jack had stopped talking to the stuffed tiger, and was looking at Jamie now. Jamie couldn't help remembering the way Jack had looked the very first moment Jamie had believed in him. And how lonely the winter spirit must have been before that. "I'll make you a deal," he said to Calvin, not looking away from his best friend's eyes.

"Oh?"

Sometimes, rarely, Jamie didn't know if he was in fact crazy or not. But he clung to the things that he knew to be true, regardless of what names he was called. What if Calvin was the same? "We close our eyes and count to three. When we open them again, I believe in Hobbes too, and you believe in Jack Frost too."

Calvin looked thoughtful. "You think that'll work?"

Jamie looked away from Jack, looked at maybe-not-crazy-after-all Calvin. "It's worth a try."

Calvin suddenly grinned. "For science!" He shut his eyes. Jamie hastily shut his too. And concentrated on /believing/.

"One... two... three!" Calvin counted.

Believing as hard as he could, Jamie opened his eyes.

And gaped.

"You really do have a tiger," he managed. Hobbes grinned toothily at him.

Calvin whooped and clapped Jamie on the back. "Come on, help us build some snow forts!" he said. "The two of us against the two of you."

"Oh, you don't want to go up against me..." Jack warned Calvin.

Calvin grinned. "Bring it on, snow-man!"

* * *

**Author's Note:** Obviously circling back to the traumatic events of chapter two. And the throw-away reference in chapter one! For the first story here, "numen" is a word I've been saving up since it was on the Merriam-Webster word-a-day list on November 25th, 2012. "Numen \NOO-mun\; noun: a spiritual force or influence often identified with a natural object, phenomenon, or place." As for Hobbes... he's a tulpa. Which I'll steal a partial description of from wikipedia: "A being or object which is created through sheer discipline alone. It is a materialized thought that has taken physical form." Or then there's the cut scene dialogue explanation:

"What's a tulpa?"

"Mmm, it's somewhere between a Velveteen Rabbit, a golem, a Frankenstein's monster, and an imaginary friend that comes to life."

"I swear, are we even speaking the same language?"

"Hey, you asked."


	5. On Hoodies and Hugs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie thinks Jack needs, possibly, professional psychiatric help. He's settled for giving Jack hugs instead.

Hoodie

Jamie hates Jack's hoodie.

Well, it's not the hoodie per se that he hates. The hoodie's a nondescript faded navy, completely forgettable except for the way that Jack wearing it covers it with ice and frost patterns. Which are actually kind of pretty. So, as a garment, Jamie has nothing against it.

No, what Jamie hates is the way Jack sometimes pulls the hood up.

He doesn't know if anyone else notices. He doesn't know if anyone else even pays attention. But Jamie does, because of all the people on Earth except for his mom and Sophie, Jack is the person he loves best. And when Jack has his hood up, it's not for the same reasons Jamie might. Jack doesn't have it up because he gets cold. He doesn't have it up because the wind's bothering his neck.

Jack pulls his hood up because he's hurting.

And Jamie _hates_ seeing anyone hurting the way Jack does.

It's not often. And it's hard to catch Jack in one of those moods, because when he's unhappy, Jack tends to hide like Jamie's neighbor's cat. But Jamie has a sixth sense for when Jack is in town, and has figured out where most of Jack's hiding places are. (He's working on changing that "most" to "all.")

There are a few rooftops that give Jack privacy, including, oddly, the elementary school roof. But Jack tends to skip out from there pretty quick, because the school has a playground, and when Jack is depressed he doesn't want to be near kids.

The woods behind Jamie's house hold Jack's pond, always a good candidate even in the summer months. More than once, Jamie has found Jack there, sat on the rocks in the middle of the pond, and threatened to swim over to him no matter how cold the water was. Once Jack figured out Jamie was serious, the threat alone had usually been enough to get him to fly to the shore.

The woods also have lots of tall trees whose branches might hide a miserable winter spirit. Jamie has consequently gotten _very_ good at climbing.

Because the thing is, Jack is one of Jamie's favorite people ever. And Jamie is pretty sure he's high on Jack's list too. So even if Jack won't tell him what's wrong (the Easter Bunny's being an ass, Claude stopped believing, Monty stopped believing, Pippa stopped believing...), Jamie will sit with him until Jack feels better. It always works, sooner or later. Even if it takes staying with him until the moon is up, the sun is down, and Jamie has fallen asleep leaning on Jack's shoulder. That's actually happened once or twice, and when Jack realizes it, he'll fly Jamie to his room and end up sitting by the window.

Jamie worries about growing up and forgetting Jack. He worries that Jack realizing Jamie's forgotten about him will send the winter spirit into another, worse downward spiral. He worries that if he stops believing, Jack will have no one to try and break him out of his depressions.

He wishes he could see the other Guardians the way he sees Jack, but they're purposely elusive. Jamie only ever met them that one night, years ago. If he could, Jamie would talk to them, make them see what he sees in the Guardian of Fun. Because he doesn't think they know that Jack has downs to match his ups. If they did, he'd like to think they'd take better care of Jack. Because as it is, he's not sure they do.

Still, Jamie can only do what he can do, and so he does that as best he can. Jack is a teenager trapped in eternity, with three hundred years of loneliness behind him that he's still coming to terms with. And maybe Jamie shouldn't let Jack be as fond of him as he is, because some day Jamie is going to grow up and get old and die, and then he'll just be another person Jack has lost. But Jamie can't find it in himself to be so immeasurably cruel as to shove Jack away. Jack's problems _stem_ from his loneliness, and if Jamie was a college student studying psychology, he'd probably have a whole list of long words to describe Jack's issues.

But Jamie's not, and Jamie doesn't. He's only fourteen. The only thing he can do for his friend is be there for him.

And hope that someday, Jack won't need to hide under his hood anymore.

* * *

Hugs

During the seven long months between the magical night he first met Jack Frost, and the November day when he saw Jack again, Jamie Bennett had thought a lot. He thought about how shocked, how happy, Jack had been to be seen. He thought about how Jack had completely frozen for a moment when Jamie had hugged him. He thought about the other Guardians, and wondered if they ever hugged Jack.

When Jack had appeared again that November day, announcing his return via a snowball to Jamie's back, Jamie had spun around, shocked.

There had been a small part of him, he realized, that had truly thought he was never going to see Jack again. That he would have to go by the Guardian's words and have faith in his existence, like the way Jamie believed in the sun and the moon. But there the white-haired teenager stood, leaning on his staff and smiling, like he'd never left.

"Jack!" Jamie said, and dropped everything else to run to the winter spirit and hug him.

Jack froze again.

Realization hit like a cold slushball to Jamie's face. He only hugged Jack tighter.

No one else, Jamie knew for sure now, hugged Jack Frost.

Jamie couldn't imagine that. His mom hugged him all the time, and so did Sophie, and so did his grandparents when they visited. And he couldn't remember nearly as much about his dad as he wished he could, but he could remember that last long hug, weak and tearful, in the hospital room that had smelled of chemicals. Sophie hadn't even been born yet, so Jamie had promised his dad to hug her all the time for him, as soon as Sophie got big enough. He hadn't broken that promise yet, and wasn't going to.

Jamie couldn't imagine a life without someone's arms wrapping around him, letting him know without words that they loved him.

Jack's hand landed softly on Jamie's hair. "Hey, what's this for?" the winter spirit asked, head cocked to one side as blue eyes looked down into brown.

"I missed you," Jamie said honestly.

Jack smiled, something soft and sincere and just for Jamie. "I missed you, too."

Right then and there, Jamie made himself a promise. He was going to give Jack all the hugs he could, so that the Guardian would know that he was loved, that he wasn't ever going to be forgotten and invisible again. Jamie didn't care if it took ten years, he was going to get it through to Jack so that the older boy would stop flinching whenever he was touched. He hugged Jack tighter for just a second, affirming the silent promise to himself, then let go, looking up. "What do you want to do today?" Jamie asked.

Jack's smile shifted to something more mischievous. "Got any thoughts about you and me versus your friends in an all-out snowball war?"

"Yeah!" Jamie could just picture it. "We could build forts, and defend them!"

"We could toss in some Capture The Flag, too, while we're at it."

Jamie punched up into the air in excitement. "Let's do it! Come on, Jack!" He grabbed the spirit's hand and started dragging him toward the hill where he knew his friends were probably playing.

"Oh, you don't want to _walk_ there, do you, Jamie?" Jack teased, and then his arm was around Jamie and they were _flying_.

"Awesome!" Jamie cried into the cold wind in his face, and if Jack's arm tightened just a little around his chest?

Well, that was a kind of hug too, wasn't it?

* * *

 **Author's Note:** You know, when I started this story, I intended for it to be a place to put short little fluff things that didn't go anywhere else. When/how did it become an angstbucket fic?


	6. Ties of Blood, Snow, and Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a promise made in blood, little brother figures are often more astute than winter spirits, and sometimes friends are more astute still.

Blood Brothers

Jack's blood, they discover, is as red as Jamie's, but runs as cold as ice water. Their blood-brother exchange goes about as planned.

(Jamie doesn't know _why_ he thought Jack's blood might be blue, or purple, or frozen altogether. Jack moves and breathes and has a heartbeat, so he's obviously alive _now_ , regardless of what happened three hundred years ago. Alive, just chilly.)

There are bandaids applied afterward, and they both laugh because the bandaids are so pink and girly. Sophie is hooked on that silly pony show, and Jamie's mom obliges her at the supermarket.

(A hundred years later, Jack will still have the tiny mark on his finger from the bloodletting. He doesn't scar easily, so knows the mark is still there because of one reason alone: he wanted a reminder to last through eternity.)

Jamie was born and raised in northern Pennsylvania, so he's always been used to a certain degree of cold. As the years go on, though, he becomes more so, and only starts wearing long sleeves about the time that others pull on jackets. He never gets frostbite, never suffers from windchill, and winter never hurts him.

In his three hundred years of immortality, Jack's never cared much for warmth. Spring feels like an itch under his skin, and summer makes him downright nauseous. He skips his way north (or some years, to the far south) to get away from the discomfort. After Jamie, though, he finds he can tolerate it a little bit better.

When Jamie dies, in his late nineties, sound of mind if weaker of body, it's mid-winter. His body is found in the snow, a smile on his face. Hypothermia, the coroner says. Poor old fellow's heart probably just gave out, and he froze to death. Jamie's family, though sad, know differently.

A white-haired boy sits in the tree branches, watching as the old man's body is taken away. He is neither sad nor happy, merely thoughtful. Something unseen ruffles his hair, laughs in his ear. It might be the wind.

It is not.

So long as Jamie Bennett's blood pulses within Jack Frost's body, a part of him is alive. And now, so long as Jack is alive, he will never again be alone.

When the vehicle's doors shut and the body is hidden from view, Jack stands and springs into the air. The wind whirls him east and south - there is winter in need of being brought, children waiting for their snow days.

As yet unseen by any but his companion, Jamie laughs, and goes with him.

* * *

Boys Don't Cry

It's not that he's slow on the uptake - he's not! really he's not... oh, who's he trying to fool? himself? good luck there, Jacky - but it takes Jack upward of fifty years to realize that when he gets depressed, it starts snowing.

The funny thing is, he didn't notice because he makes it snow _all the time_. When he's happy, when he's manic, when he's bored... bam! Snowfall. Snow is about one of the best things ever, and he loves it. It's fluffy and fun and _comfortable_. Okay, maybe it's not as pretty as the frost patterns he makes, but sometime in the late 1800s he overhears two serious men in black talking to one another about how no two snowflakes are alike, and suddenly Jack's intrigued by this bit of his craft that he'd never before known. Jack follows the two men, listening as they talk, and gets the name of a Mister Wilson Bentley of Vermont, who discovered this phenomenon.

After a lot of painstaking searching, Jack finds a man standing in a field in northeast Vermont, patiently catching snowflakes on black velvet and taking pictures of them.

Jack is, to put it mildly, fascinated by what he learns that day, and in the days that follow. Although he can't ask Bentley questions (well, he _can_ , and does, but gets no answers), he can look and listen. Snowflakes, Jack learns, are made of hexagonal lattices of ice crystals. And while it's theoretically mathematically possible that two could be the same, well, good luck finding those two.

(A century later, Jack will amuse himself at Harvard University by sending a snowstorm down where every single snowflake is identical. Not one of the learned men and women there that day notices a thing.)

After his encounter with Bentley, Jack starts playing with snowflakes, crafting them by hand just to get a sense of what he can and can't do. He pays more attention to snow for a good few years, and less to icicles and frost. No one really notices. But eventually, he gets bored, and moves back to his favorite use for snow: as a plaything. Snow angels, snow forts, snowmen, snowballs... the list of fun things he can do with snow seems endless.

Except sometimes, at the end of an epic sledding/snowball fight/skating session, when he's had _so much fun_ with his new friends, he turns to ask them a question...

...and they walk right through him.

Every time, tears prick his eyes. But he doesn't cry. He can't cry, won't cry....

But the sky cries for him.

It's not until many years later, when Jamie starts tracking him down _every single time_ Jack's had a sucky day, that he realizes someone else has noticed.

"The snow's different," Jamie tells him bluntly when Jack asks. "It's all wet and heavy and not really good for anything but the water table."

"Oh," says Jack, for lack of anything more intelligent.

Jamie rolls his eyes and shoves Jack's shoulder with his own. "It's not like you're exactly _subtle_ ," he said. "I mean, you're Jack Frost. You're a Guardian. Big and showy is what you guys are all about."

Jack... can't really argue that. So instead he nips a bit of snow down the back of Jamie's shirt, and just like that, the war is on.

* * *

Aging Out_

Jamie approaches each milestone with a certain dread. When he's seventeen, he graduates high school, and that's a relief because even after making friends with Calvin, it was still the most hellish experience of his life.

And that's _counting_ his childhood encounter with the Boogeyman.

That summer, he turns eighteen. He wakes up that morning, and the knowledge chokes him like lead. He was born at 8:15am on a Tuesday, and he watches the clock count down, watches the minutes slip away, and wonders, at 8:16, will he still be able to see Jack?

The time comes and goes, and he closes his eyes, trying not to cry, because _he doesn't know._

"Hey." The voice comes from Jamie's window, and his eyes fly open. There's the out-of-season winter spirit, leaning against the sill, cocky smile in place, but worry written all over his expression.

"Jack!" Jamie doesn't tackle the spirit - that way leads to a painful drop out the second story window - but he knows his relief is telegraphed in just how tight his hug is.

"Happy birthday, Jamie." And if Jack's voice is a little rough, his grip also a little tight, both of them know why.

But maybe it's not turning eighteen that makes someone an adult. Maybe it's the first day of college. Or losing your virginity. Or turning twenty-one. Or the first day on a post-college job. Jamie feels a little like Wendy Darling, trying desperately not to grow up. But Jack is no Peter Pan. He's just as aware of time's passage as Jamie. And every time he shows up at the windowsill, or outdoors with a snowball in hand, his expression betrays that he, too, worries about Jamie growing up and forgetting him.

Jamie's last baby tooth is long gone. He no longer participates in Easter egg hunts, or trick-or-treats at Halloween. He has a job, and loans to pay off, and perhaps most condemning of all, needs to shave each morning.

And yet Jack still shows up at his window. And when Jamie looks out into the night sky, it's still lit by golden glowing streams of dreamsand.

"You worry too much," Calvin says one winter day when they're twenty-seven and both back in Burgess for Christmas. There is a sleeping tiger stretched out on the rug in front of the fireplace, and the remains of tuna fish sandwiches are scattered all around the dining nook. "Both of you," the paleontologist adds, mock-glaring at Jack. "If we haven't grown up and forgotten by now, we're not going to."

The winter spirit holds up his hands in defense. "'I am old, Peter,'" he quotes. "'I am ever so much more than twenty.'" He says it in a falsetto that makes the other two laugh.

"He's too much of a dork for you to ever forget him," Calvin continues, turning back to Jamie. "So stop worrying. It's never to late to enjoy your second childhood."

And you know what? Jamie thinks. Calvin is right.

* * *

**Author's Note:** "Blood Brothers" came as a surprise to me until I realized that while I've read (and written!) a few immortal!Jamie stories, I'd never seen a ghost!Jamie story. I've no idea if it's actually in continuity with the rest of these stories or not. The second piece is (sorta) Jack's side of Jamie hating Jack's hoodie. And the last one is, by popular demand, another story with Calvin. I couldn't resist having him be a paleontologist; I've read a few very good adult!Calvin stories with that premise. Though Calvin's last line riffs from the comic Bloom County, of equally cherished childhood memory.


	7. Dribs and Drabs

Barefoot

It was kind of funny, except how it wasn't, that only a handful of kids in Burgess had Easter eggs to unwrap and eat. Jamie didn't know the full story of what had happened to Easter, but he was pretty sure the Boogeyman had had something to do with it. Which made him mad, and the next time the jerk showed his face, Jamie was going to throw a snowball or a shoe or something at him. Ruining the egg hunt was just plain _mean_.

But once the candy eggs were gone, that was it. There was nothing, no proof that his great adventure had happened. It was the beginning of May and Jamie knew Jack Frost wouldn't be coming back for months. Christmas was months off, and Easter practically a whole YEAR away! None of his friends had any loose teeth to reinforce their belief, and they were already asleep by the time the Sandman came around.

But Jamie had a secret weapon: a photograph.

He'd woken up the morning after his adventure tucked into his own warm bed, as had his friends. It might have all been a dream. Heck, the others had already begun passing it off as such within a week. But then Jamie fished out the picture he'd taken less than five minutes after waking.

In it, his feet were scratched and dirty, the cuffs of his pyjama bottoms filthy and torn from where he'd walked on them, trying to protect his feet from the cold ground.

"Explain that, if it was just a dream," he told his friends, passing around the Polaroid.

None of them could.

It was totally worth the shriek his mother had made at the state of his and Sophie's feet, and the way she'd grounded Jamie from going out of doors after dark, to have that evidence proving the existence of Jack and the other Guardians.

* * *

Sore

One thing Jack was not, was a sore loser. Nor was he a sore winner. Jamie knew for a fact, in fact, that the winter spirit reined in his powers and abilities to present a level playing field whenever possible. Except, of course, whenever not doing so was more fun.

Specifically, fun not just for Jack, but for all involved.

Case in point: where else was anyone in Burgess ever going to get a chance to fly, unaided by machine?

Of course, Jack's ideas for games were also sometimes kind of weird and, if Jamie had to admit it, grandpa-ish.

That said, he began seeing the appeal of marbles after Jack slicked the ground and produced a handful of locked-state ice marbles out of his hoodie pocket. The low friction made the game a _lot_ more fun, and while Jack ended up pocketing a couple of Jamie's marbles, Jamie won (probably on purpose, knowing Jack) three ice marbles that never melted, not even in the summer.

He had to wonder, though, if Jack did anything like that with anyone else. For all that he was the favorite big brother figure and winter playmate for, like, every kid in Burgess, Jamie never saw him leave them with anything _physical_. Anything that couldn't be explained as an overactive imagination, and a good day's fun playing outside.

So why did Jamie rate unmelting marbles, a snowflake that hung in his window year-round, and help on his homework?

The Guardians, he kind of thought, weren't supposed to play favorites. Santa gave presents to everyone (well, some of the presents were coal. Allegedly.). Tooth collected teeth world-wide. Sandy didn't discriminate on who got good dreams. And Bunny... well, Jamie suspected he had a little bit of a weakness for Sophie, since she certainly always seemed to find the prettiest eggs. But he certainly didn't slack off on everyone else's.

But if Jamie was Jack's favorite, well... Jack was his favorite too. So no need to rub it in anyone's face. Jack was the closest he'd ever get to having a brother, and it totally wasn't anyone's fault that Jamie's big brother was so much cooler than theirs.

* * *

Gossip

Jamie was fifteen when he finally figured out that gossip was the coin and currency of the supernatural world.

Or, to put it more simply, the Guardians and every other spirit he met swapped rumors like biddies over a bridge table.

Actually, he wasn't sure the Guardians _didn't_ play bridge. He could certainly picture the other four of them at it. Not Jack, though. Card games were kind of too stationary for him.

"Well, sure we gossip," Jack said when Jamie confronted him about it. He looked a little surprised. "We're immortal. What else have we got to do? And since we don't actually run into one another all that often - Guardians excepted - it's how we know about one another. And," he said, leaning forward against his staff, "it's not like you mortals don't do the same thing."

Jamie blinked. "Come again?"

Jack snickered. "What do you think all your books about mythology _are_ , Jamie? Pretty much they're supernatural scandal mags."

Jamie turned to stare at his bookcase. He looked at the shelves and shelves of books of mythology, of religion, of fairy tales. His collection ranged from kids' books to college texts.

His face met the palm of his hand as he groaned. "I've been reading The National Enquirer back issues."

"Yup."

* * *

Cryosphere

Despite being the master of snowball fights and the undisputed king of sled run design, Jack was pretty much homeless. He hadn't really ever thought about it before; Burgess was home, and a tree branch or rooftop quite comfy enough for a nap when he needed one.

"But North keeps ragging me to settle down and put up a base somewhere," he told Jamie. "And Bunny just makes these snide remarks about not trusting a gypsy."

Jamie, twenty and in college, paused in his sculpting and looked up at Jack, frowning. "That's kind of racist. Which is not what I'd expect from a giant Australian rabbit. Glass houses and all that."

Jack waved a dismissive hand. "He doesn't mean it like that. Hey, what if we add a loop here?"

"Maybe." Jamie used his fingers to carve through the snow, Jack freezing the resulting track solid. The 1/36th scale sled run was of the Suicide Hill near Calvin's house. Jack had taken it as a personal challenge to turn Calvin's hair white by the time he was thirty. Jamie doubted he would succeed. "So what do Tooth and Sandy have to say about you having a home base?"

Jack shrugged. "Tooth hasn't said anything to me. And Sandy _wouldn't_."

"Tooth's probably too busy to even consider it." Jamie sat back on his heels, contemplating. Then he looked at Jack again. "I can kind of see North's point, though. You're only _here_ for, what, five months a year? You need like a business office or something where people can leave messages for you."

Jack snorted. "I think I can do a little better than that. The problem is, _where_?"

"North Pole?"

"Don't want to tread on the old man's toes."

"South Pole?"

Jack shuddered. "Bad memories," he said.

Jamie looked at him, but didn't press. "...Right," he said. A moment of silence ensued, before he asked "Siberia? Everest?" He laughed. "Heck, Canada?"

"Too remote, too touristy, too many Mounties." Jack sighed, looking at their sled run layout but not really seeing it. "Problem is, anywhere it's cold enough for me to set up a base year-round, there's no people."

Jamie huffed in exasperation, blowing his bangs upward. They settled right back into his eyes. "And people are your thing."

"Yeah."

"Hmm." Jamie considered Jack's dilemma for a moment, then shrugged. "Maybe I could get you a post-office box or your own voicemail."

Jack laughed.

* * *

Legacy

Jack looked at the little girl as she wobbled her way unsteadily out onto the ice, her legs bent inward and her knees nearly touching. Then she looked up at him, and Jack stopped breathing.

_She had his sister's face._

"Jack," she said, "I'm scared."

The words were the same. Jack glanced up from her, at her dad, Jamie, where he stood at the edge of the pond. Jamie was different now, older, taller, but his eyes still held the rock-solid confidence in Jack that had seen their friendship through nearly twenty winters.

Jack swallowed, and looked back at Emily. "It's all right," he reassured her, and wow, deja vu. "We're just going to have a little fun." He reached out, took Emily's hands in his, steadying her. Slowly, he moved backward, pulling her after him.

Jamie had already known how to skate when he'd first met Jack, but Jack had taught Sophie by this same method, and so many other kids since. It had always been assumed, always been understood, that he'd be Emily's skating teacher when she was old enough.

Good God, she looked like Phillipa had. Jack risked another glance at Jamie, who was standing relaxed now, smiling as he watched his supernatural brother make his little girl laugh.

Jamie looked a little like Phillipa too. Jack had never thought about it before. The brown hair/brown eyes combination was so common as to be the standard in Burgess. But now he wondered....

Somewhere back in the Bennett family tree, was there ever a Phillipa Frost?

* * *

**Author's Note:** Wow, it's been nearly six months since I posted any fanfiction! But I have by no means fallen out of the RotG fandom, and I do actually have a good excuse.

About a week after I posted my last story, I gave birth. And no matter how prepared you think you are, babies have (1) a steep learning curve attached, and (2) a way of taking up all your time! So writing has been more problematic than before. But now that my son's a little older, I hope to continue the stories I left on hold.


End file.
